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A SECOND^ CHAMBER IN ^RANCE^ 767.

The second chambers which we ourselves upon-that (Subject, and whers^laws are have invariably bestowed upon our Colo- drawn and passed in a much infTfe comnies, apparently under an idea-that a sin- plete and logical form, and elfeetivevCfiti

chamber would be too Republics have as invariably failed, and during the present elections in the greatest of them

all — the Canadian Dominion—Members pr employs bad agents he goes. It is

of the Council are reigning; their Beats in order to enter the Lolrcr IIoiiMJ.

Tiie truth is a second chamber is useless or burdensome, unless it represents something which the popular Assembly does not; and no such something is to be found in France. Hereditary importance, even if it existed in France, which it does not in any sufficient degree, could not be recognized in a Republic, and there is nothing else which cannot obtain its full weight in the Assembly, unless it be the City of Paris, which exercises an influence in.France entirely out of proportion to its representative strength at Versailles. If M. Thiers were trying to frame a council which should represent a living, and yet separate, power in France, the best thing Le could do would be to do what for other reasons would be absurd and impossible — make the representation of Paris a second chamber. If the Councils-General elect the senators, they will either send up ir.en like those in the Assembly, or men so distinctly "rural" that they will not be able to agree with the more powerful body. If the departments, on the other hand, elect by direct election among some limited class, the Senate, or whatever it might be called, would be a privileged body, and entirely without restraining power over the nation. It might be possible no doubt to change the Conseil d'Etat with its very large executive powers into a second chamber, aud even to make its consent necessary to adisolution; but it is diffi cult to see what place it is expected to fill as a chamber which it does not fill now. If it arrested or modified legislation of its own accord, it would soon be both disliked and despised, and if it acted in unison with the President, it would scarcely strengthen hi.- hands, Frenchmen considering it much more natural that the head of the Executive should veto a Bill, than that a group of non-representative notables should veto one. The revision of measures so necessary in this countrv is not so necessary in France, where a Bill is discussed first of all in secret by the "bureau," that is the committee best informed

quite certain that no great measure reSolved on by the/Assembly could be resisted by the "tipper" House without danger of suddeirextinction, and it is as difficult to sec what it is to do as to ascertain what it is to represent.

Further there is an objection to the creation of a second chamber in France, which no one out of France ever notices, and tfiis is that a French Assembly needs very little restraint or control in the English sense — that is, does not require to be made more Conservative than it is. Any Assembly honestly elected is, in France, sure to be dangerously Conservative. It may not be Monarchical, but it is certain, whatever the form of government, to be in favour of order, of authority, and of keeping things very much as they are. Those are the tendencies of the persons who elect it, and in France more than in any other country the representatives reflect the opinions of those who elect them, the watchfulness on that point being, if anything, a little excessive. It is so strict that whenever a member desirea to carry anything opposed to the popular will he tries to avoid open voting, and whenever secret and open votes are both taken in the Chamber, the open vote is sure to be iu accord with the departmental opinion. The idea that a French Assembly is always progressive is an error founded en the action of the first National Assembly which was elected on a restricted suffrage, and represented mainly the passionate hatred of the middle class for the privileges of the nobles. Since universal suffrage was established. French Assemblies have been decidedly and stupidly Conservative, nor is there any serious chance of a Red election. A second chamber therefore is not required as a drag on the machine, and if it is desired to avoid the chance of a rash, or silly, or enthusiastic vote, it would be far better to place a suspensive veto in the hands of the President of the Republic, who is, and under the French government always must be, the most responsible, the most serious, and the most influential person in the State.

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tln-'.iLany that have gon^^i'urc, that " there is notmng new under thelBra;" Jiijjd that a tendency in nature, human as Well mate, to reproduce itself. It has gi/uer supposed that the realism, ofthe stage, which • has rapt with such sever?TWWmgjuJion' on-«TT f . hauds during the past fttw years, is a modern innovation. That sucj^is noF-the ease, 1st following extract from the 'foregoing: bear witness: — •* '* '**'

-*•" "The improvement of nature which I had in 'view alluded to those excellent exhibitions of the animal or [sic, T and] inanimate parts of the creation which are furnished by the worthy philosophers Rich and Garrick fthe latter of whom i. has refined on his competitor; and, having per

ceived that art was become so perfect that it was •V necessary to mimic it by nature, he has happily T- introduced a caspftde of real water. I know "that there are persons of a systeojatic turn who affirm that the audience are not delighted with this beautiful waterfall from the reality of the element, but merely because they are pleased with the novelty of anything that is out of its proper place. Thus they tell you that the town is charmed with a genuine cascade upon the stage, and was in raptures last year with one of tin at Vauxhall. But this is certainly prejudice. The world, though never sated with show, is sick of fiction; and I foresee the time when delusion [illusion] will not be suQered in any part of the drama."

Then come a senieg-of ludicrous instances illustrating, in ft vein of excellent raillery, the necessity of a stricter adherence to nature (realism) on the stage: such as the brick-kiln, which did not smell like one; the introduction of very personable geeso by Mr. Cibber; the impersonator of Alexander, who forgot himself in the heat of conquest so far as to stick his sword in one of the pasteboard stones of the wall of the town, and bore it in triumph before him; the performer who was injured by the edge of a wave running into his side on his falling, whereas " the worst that could happen to him in the present stute of things would be drowning."

The essay concludes with a good story of a "celebrated confectioner who, having prepared a middle dit*h of gods and goddesses eighteen feet high, complained of bis lord. '* Imngiuezvous," said he, " que milord n'a pas voulu faire oter le plaiond "— "Figure to yourself my lord's refusal to demolish the ceiling,*'

Notes and yutries. J- S. Dk.

Melun, wounded to death, exhorts the English ^^"ly, informing them of the treachery of Lewis, and when Salisbury doubtingly asks —

1*M.iy this be possible? may this be true? Melun refers to hia approaching death as a rea

n^whvijuf ghould speak the truth, saying — "Have I hot hideous death within my view, .

Retaining tut a quantity of life, • Which hle&ls awayfll^en as a form of wax

Rfsdveth from his figure.'giirist the fire?

What ia4t)« world should make me now deceive, • Sinco'I must lose rtie use of all deceit?

Why suould.l-then be»false, since it is true

That I must die her&nd live hence by truth?"

Shakespeare may have taken this sentiment from the following passage in the Euphues of Lyly:_

"When my lady came, and saw me so altered in a moneth, wasted to the harde bones, more lyke a gboast then a lyving creature, after many words of comfort (as women want none about sicke persons) when she saw opportunitie, she asked me whether the Italian were my messenger, or if he were, whether his embassage were true, which question I thus answered —

"Lady, to dissemble with the worlde, when I

am departing from it, woulde profile me nothing

'ith man, and hinder me much with God; to

make my deathbed the place of deceipt, might

hasten my death, and encrease my daunger."

In these passages Shakespeare and Lyly express the same sentiment in similar language. Noted and queries.

The Death or Count Melujt. — In Shakespeare's King John, Act V. So. 4, the Count

The Garden calls attention to the great value of the Island of Jamaica as a tropical garden. Its oranges, pine-apples, bananas, limes, limejuice, cocoa-nuts, and other such products, could not be surpassed in quality, and might be cultivated to any imaginable extent. Beside nil this, the soil and climate are eminently suitable to the growth of precious 4cug« and plants. Bark is raised easily, the cinchona plantation being in a most satisfactory state. Then there are hemp and China grass of excellent quality, nor would any arrowroot be superior to that of Jamaica if it were but more carefully prepared for market. Here, it will be said, is n noble ! prospect for the colony. True, but it is a prospect only. Not until the very last returns is there shown nny " tendency to the development of new industries requiring little capital and no extraordinary skill." It is the old story, " minor articles " are neglected, though they are the very articles which are wanted, and which the colonists could send. However, Jamaica is fortunate in having a Governor in Sir J. P. Grant, who can discern the true capabilities of the island, and the true place for its industry in the markets of the world.

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No. 1477-September 28, 1872. . o

C O N T P N T S. so1. Researches on LIFE AND Disease, . . . . Edinburgh Review, . - . 771, 2. Off The Skelligs. By Jean Ingelow. Part XVI., Saint Pauls, . - - . 786 3. DevelopMENT IN DRess, . - - -- . .Macmilian's. Magazine, - . 802 4. The BURGoMAster's FAMILY; or, WEAL AND Woe IN A Little World. By Christine, Müller. - Translated from the Dutch by Sir John Shaw • Lefevre. Part II., - - - - . Fraser's Magazine, . - . 808 5. AN Episode IN THE TRIAL of the EARL of STRAF- * FORD, . - - - - - - . ..Athenaeum, - - - . 823 *...* Title and Index to Volume CXIV. P O ET R Y. AUGUst, - - - - - 770 | SUMMER DAYs, . - - - . 770 “THERE shall BE No MoRe SEA,” . 770 | THE TRAise of LIGHT. - - . 770

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Ararat.

An August sceue: And jewel-crowned she comes, with treasures

r:irc

Of ripening corn and fruit and flowers fair,

Aud smiles in grace and beauty everywhere

As some fair queen.

'Tis Summer still.

Though Autumn's wreath of beauty is unstrung, The Summer's tearf'il farewells are unsung, And still in golden dreams we wander 'moug

Field, dale, and hill

'Nenth yon (tray cloud The tinted glory of the sky is seen; The hill-tops show their light in emerald green, Whilst leaves sing rustling in their velvet sheen

Music not lou-1.

A plaintive strain:
It benreth low upon this evening hour
Sweet lullabies to sleeping bird and flower.
Hallowing with a strange and quiet power

The heart's retrain.

"THERE SHALL BK SO MORE SEA."

Not so — not so! How would the weary eye
Long for the rest of its fir-reaching blue,

The wings that o'er its ruffled bosom fly,
Its light and shade forever fair and new!

How should we miss the charm of sunset hour,
When every hue that makes it fair and bright

Falls on the heaving flood, till, like a flower,
It blooms beneath the arch of colored light!

There shall be no more sea! Must then the tone
That makes more happy the uustricken heart

And soothes all sorrow, never more be known When from the glad and glorious earth we part?

Oh gracious God, if there shall be no sea Cause that we yearn not for its beauty lost!

Morning and evening it hath led to thee

Hearts that were tried and sore and tempesttossed!

And when the moonlight lies upon its breast,
Along its pathway do our spirits rise

Unto thy throne in the far land of rest,

Where sorrows wound not and hope never dies.

There should our senses miss the rhythmic roll
Of the soft summer sea? Oh, speak a id tell,

Ye loved aud lost, who vanished like a scroll
On which consuming flames resistless fell!

Tell us, what other boon hath heaven in store
To stay our yearning when we turn to see
The broad blue fields that stretch from shore to

shore,

And find them not! What shall our solaoe be?

Enough that He who made can fill the soul.
Here and hereafter till its deeps o'erflow;

Enough that love and tenderness control
Our fate where'er in joy or doubt we go.
Transcript. L.

SUMMER DAYS.

A Little nook of wilderness
Between the meadow aud the river,
Where two erewhile together came,
And one will come no more forever.

The rustic bridge, the narrow road,
The seat upon the fallen pine.
The whisper of the summer woods.
So sweet, but not so sweet as thine.

A little wild flower long ago
Among the tangled grasses grew, —
So many things are dead since then,
How should not that be withered too 1

Here where we sat I sit alone,
Watching until the sun goes down.
For though 'tis summer-time to-day.
To-morrow will the woods be brown.

"Year after year," the poet sang,
Year after year the spirit sighs.
And summer days will come again,
Aud suns will set in summer skies, —

But to this bourne of wilderness
Between the meadow and the river
Will any come bee iuse we came,
Aud say, — They come no more forever?
Spectator.

THE PRAI.SE OF LIGHT.

Who praiseth thee in fittest mood, 0 Light? Perhaps 'tis one who while thfc city sleeps, Long time a sick man's dreary vigil keeps, And wistful counts the signs of waning night: The dying sound of wheels, the midnight hush. The according hells of congregated towers, That chime the round of dusk slow-footed

hours,

Till daylight dawns at last: then with a rush.
Of glad expectancies he weeps and prays.
And half he prays to Light and half to Gu«l.
"If now, indeed, 1 tread the upward road
From unfamiliar Death to Life's fair ways,
O lovely Light ! lot me no longer shame.
By heart unclean or crooked, thy sweet name ! *•
Comhill Magazine.

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From thp Edinburgh Review RESEARCHES ON LIFE AND DISEASE.'

Not the* least wonderful of the many marvels that have been, more or less perfectly brought into clear light by the persevering and ceaseless labours of human intelligence, is the composition of the blood, the thick crimson liquid which sustains the powers of the living animal, and which courses for that purpose, in neverstopping stream, through all parts of the frame so long as its vital activity lasts.

The problem which has been worked out in the composition of the blood of the living animal U the production of a subftiinoe containing within itself all that is required for the maintenance and renovation of the various fabrics of the body and for the support of their especial offices, in a form convenient for the circumstances in which the work has to be done. It is liquid because it lias to be distributed to the several fabrics that it has to nourish, through a service of branching tubes ; and it is complex because it has to contain all the ingredients that are needed for the constitution of those fabrics in their vast diversity, — flesh, membrane, fat, gristle, bone, nerve, and brain.

The blood of the living animal is essentially food which has been compounded by vital elaboration, and in that elaborated state thrown into the actual channels of the living frame, where its work of sustenance has to be accomplished. But not only this. The blood is also, itself, in strict accuracy, an integral part of that '•living frame." In the blood, the complex substance has received its ultimate perfection and finish in the impress which endows it with vital condition and power, and has become in the physiological sense a'-living thing." Of the fact of this endowment with potential life there is no

question anywhere; but there is question and dispute as to what the exact process

and method of transformation are. A contest is yet waged between antagonistic schools of physiologists, who each assume that they are at least on the road to the inner shrine and explanation of the mystery. The one of these schools insists that life is but a more complicated manifestation and development of molecular and material forces — a property of material substance when it has been raised into the sphere of sufficiently advanced and matured complexity. The other affirms that life is a superadded and altogether independent Power, which acts through the instrumentaliiy of elaborately perfected material, but is altogether apart and distinct from the intrinsic properties of material substance. In looking from without upon the strategy of this contest, the noncombatant easily perceives that both parties in the conflict are dealing with what some German thinkers of the day call the 'Aberglaube" of the matter; the essentially inexplicable and undemonstrable portion of the subject. Both the inateralists and the vitalists may entrench themselves on the opposite heights of the field to which they have betaken themselves; DUt from their entrenched fortifications each has to adiuit that one common fact of philosophy underlies both their posiions, namely, an utter inability to reach he real heart of the mystery.

The blood, or perhaps in more strict accuracy the chyle, which is incipient blood — the sublimed and liquefied food on its vay to be mingled with the stream of the circulation — is, then, the seat of the ferst nanifestation of vital endowment. In it the ubtle change, whatever that change may >e, which converts nutritious material into ne substance, takes place. It is, at any rate, the immediate penetralium in which he mystery that is still the aspiration, if not the reproach, of physiological science ies concealed, and in which the work of further investigation has to be mainly carried on. •But the blood, which is thus the seat of

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F.RS.. and C. T. Williams, M.A., M.D. Oxon. and dead parts, intimately mingled with London: 1871. |eaeh other. Eight pounds and a half of

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